4 generations of my new family.

Fifty Cent Praises.

Promises. Promises.

Truth be known. Truth not being told. All around.
Lies and spies and Jerico ties. Life is a game.
You play poker to win it. To be in it. Your sickness
is your addiction. Your attrition.

I have to take care of my own. Zone out on clicking
tasks that mask the virtue of a life lived taking care
of my family and taking care of my vast past
that isn't over.

The last laugh laughs last, past cubicle rows that sow
the integrity of speaking the truth. Of not holding
a grudge. Of letting go of fifty cent raises that
glazes the praises of one man rubbing the other the wrong
way.

I deserve my fifty cent raise. Fifty cent ways.
Slaves that click the time, tick off annuities not mutliplying.
Sliding down the pockets of larger charges. Larger Mustangs.
Larger stains. Debts to be paid.

Put your poker face on pal. Roll the dice. Are you telling
the truth? And if not, how can you live with yourself?